


In Fire, In Whispers

by voxofthevoid



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, In Medias Res, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Prince Katsuki Yuuri, Prince Victor Nikiforov, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-04-25 06:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14372544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: “What do you think he meant by friendly stabbing?” Viktor asks, deceptively casual as he winds a lock of his hair around his finger.“Sparring, probably.”“Ah,” Viktor sighs, his disappointment loud and theatrical. “And here I thought he meant the other kind.”Yuuri feels himself heat to the roots of his hair.“Not here,” he snaps, hands clenching at his sides.Viktor’s eyes sharpen, the veneer of pleasantness finally leaving his face.“My mistake,” he says, his smile thin and icy. “You seem tired, Prince Yuuri. Let me escort you to your bedchambers.”~In which Viktor and Yuuri are the princes of warring kingdoms but manage to fall in love anyway.





	1. torn from the flames of the brave (and the bosom we can’t return to)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eternalsunshine13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsunshine13/gifts).



> For Cady, who gave me a prompt that only took several months to complete. Oops? Love you!

Yuuri sits with his spine straight and hands neatly folded on the table, not allowing himself to shift or fidget even as discomfort writhes under his skin, growing into a physical weight. Here, he is not Katsuki Yuuri, human disaster and nervous recluse, but the Prince of Hasetsu, second child of Katsuki Hiroko and Katsuki Toshiya, and Chief Commander of an army feared across the nine kingdoms. He has to play the part.

It isn’t usually this hard. Yuuri learned to compartmentalize a long, long time ago. But this is a situation like no other.

Phichit is at the head of the table, Chris by his side, both of them in matching colors with their crowns gleaming gold on their heads. They make a lovely picture, both of them beautiful and charismatic, holding an entire table of royal heirs spellbound with words alone.

In any other event, Yuuri would be content to watch them and bask in their brightness.

Viktor Nikiforov, Prince of Petrograd, ruins any chance of that.

Yuuri loves Phichit like a brother, but he’ll never forgive him for this seating arrangement. It’s an honor to be seated on Phichit’s right, and Yuuri _is_ flattered under all the layers of irritation. He would be infinitely more grateful if Viktor doesn’t occupy the same position, on Chris’s left and exactly opposite Yuuri, right where it’s impossible to avoid looking at him.

Yuuri tries valiantly, keeping his gaze trained on his hosts. It’s no hardship. Chris and Phichit are resplendent in royal garb, and they speak with an easy harmony, switching constantly, never once interrupting the other, words flowing freely between their combined wit. Watching them, one can be forgiven for thinking they have been married for years rather than a handful of months. Then again, it’s not inaccurate to say that the two have been building up to this since childhood. Yuuri, by merit of his friendship with Phichit, knows more than most about their epic, sweeping romance.

It’s easy to see, looking at them now, that they married for love, not politics, and that the unification of two of the largest kingdoms among the Nine is only a happy consequence.

Yuuri doesn’t let himself dwell on that for long because it will inevitably lead his mind to Viktor and that is unacceptable.

His treacherous thoughts doesn’t care what Yuuri finds acceptable. Neither do his eyes, drinking in gleaming silver locks brushed to perfection, eyes a brilliant blue no ocean can compare to, sharp angles that can cut as surely as a blade, and pretty pink that lips that taste far, far sweeter than they look.

Yuuri wrenches his gaze away, fixing in on the table, cursing inwardly at his weakness. Viktor is his _enemy_.

When he looks up again, Viktor is watching him.

They lock gazes, Yuuri helpless to break the connection, until the charming smile Viktor wears like a mask, so unlike the rigid set of Yuuri’s own lips, darkens into an expression far more intense.

Yuuri looks away then, right at Phichit who gives him a sweet smile that promises retribution.

The rest of the conference is torment. Yuuri doesn’t look at Viktor again, but he feels eyes on him, heavy and piercing, and has to fight to stay composed.

Eventually, it is over, Phichit and Chris having said all they need to. Yuuri knew most of it beforehand, and Viktor probably did too, being as close to Chris as Yuuri is to Phichit, but the rest of the gathered royals are pensive and silent. A few look like they have questions, many of them, but Phichit intervenes before any can be voiced, smoothly suggesting a day and night of rest before they discuss this in detail.

 _This_ being peace, almost unthinkable for the soldiers and courtiers of kingdoms that have been fighting for land and blood and vengeance since recorded history. Yuuri is slightly better off for being warned and even included in some of his friends’ strategic meetings, but he’ll be the first to admit that he can’t see this being a success. He is willing to try if the rest are. Even one year without war is one blissful year that his soldiers – some of them tentative friends, others mere acquaintances, the rest faceless men fighting and dying under his command – can live normal lives.

Yuuri rises with the rest as they are dismissed, only to stop when Phichit tugs at his sleeve. Opposite him, he sees Chris do the same to Viktor.

Dread pools in his gut.

Sara Crispino, Crown Princess of Venezia, shoots him a concerned glance from the doorway, a wordless offer of help, but he shakes his head slightly and smiles, a little silted but genuine all the same, to show his gratitude. Sara shrugs and files out after the rest.

“Phichit,” Yuuri sighs in exasperation when the doors to the hall close behind the last of the other royals. “You aren’t supposed to show favoritism.”

“We aren’t,” Chris answers with a smile that Yuuri knows isn’t as benign as it appears to be. “Really, darling, this is anything but a friendly chit-chat.”

Yuuri is tempted to sneak a glance at Viktor to see if he is equally alarmed but crushes the urge viciously.

“Oh?” Viktor asks, voice carefully neutral. “What would this be then?”

“A warning,” Phichit answers cheerfully. “Well, more of a request actually. We know that the two of you have some…unpleasant history.”

That is a very mild way to say that Viktor and Yuuri have attempted to kill each other at least a dozen times and have nearly succeeded for a handful of those.

“Yes,” Yuuri says blandly. “You could say that.”

Phichit grimaces, the expression exaggerated and so familiar that for a moment, Yuuri is looking at his best friend. Then his face smoothes out, and he is once again a king on a mission.

“I know this must be hard for you, but nearly everyone here are enemies one way or the other. They all have grudges, grudges we’ve asked them to put aside for these few weeks. You need to do the same, both of you. We won’t ask that you act like the best of friends, but please, at least stop glaring at each other while we’re here blabbering about peace and cooperation and building a brighter future.”

“It was very eloquent blabbering,” Viktor offers when Yuuri just stands there, suddenly very interested in the sleeve of his jacket. He does love this shade of blue. “I’ve sure you’ll win over everyone by the end.”

“Thank you,” Phichit responds, perfectly gracious. “Now answer my question.”

“Well, see, you didn’t really ask one–”

“We’ll behave,” Yuuri interrupts, meeting Viktor’s affronted gaze defiantly. “Or at least I will.”

Blue eyes narrow into slits.

“As shall I.”

Yuuri is aware that Chris and Phichit are looking between the two of them, but he only has eyes for Viktor. It’s hard to think under the full weight of Viktor’s regard, but Yuuri has many years’ worth of practice doing precisely that.

“Very well,” Chris finally says. “We’ll leave you two be then. And remember, no stabbing, not even the friendly kind.”

With that, he sweeps out of the room, Phichit following more sedately, mostly because he keeps shooting these unreadable glances at Yuuri. But soon, he is also gone, leaving Yuuri alone with Viktor.

He’s alone with Viktor.

That…is not good.

Yuuri nervously turns his eyes to the other prince and is unsurprised to find him watching Yuuri in turn.

“What do you think he meant by friendly stabbing?” Viktor asks, deceptively casual as he winds a lock of his hair around his finger.

“Sparring, probably.”

“Ah,” Viktor sighs, his disappointment loud and theatrical. “And here I thought he meant the other kind.”

Yuuri feels himself heat to the roots of his hair.

“Not _here_ ,” he snaps, hands clenching at his sides. 

Viktor’s eyes sharpen, the veneer of pleasantness finally leaving his face.

“My mistake,” he says, his smile thin and icy. “You seem tired, Prince Yuuri. Let me escort you to your bedchambers.”

 “I’m sure you have more worthy things to do with your time, Prince Viktor.”

“Oh, but I am dreadfully exhausted. And don’t you know, our rooms are in the same wing.”

Yuuri is going to murder Phichit.

He is well aware that he can resist more, deny that he is tired – except that he is, from long days in a carriage, some on foot, always alert for an ambush or an assassin – and go find Sara, or maybe Seung-gil, to catch up with the few allies he has in this place. He doesn’t, instead allowing Viktor to walk beside him, never too close, but never farther than an arm’s stretch as they go to their chambers.

They reach Yuuri’s room first, Viktor’s being further down the hall.

The logical thing to do would be to separate. Yuuri can breathe easier when no longer in Viktor’s presence.

Instead, Yuuri stands in his doorway, flicks his gaze along the corridor for prying eyes, and yanks Viktor into the room with him. Viktor only laughs as the door slams shut behind him, the sound sweet like wind chimes and all the more grating for it.

Yuuri quiets him with a kiss.

That earns him a startled gasp. Viktor’s mouth is slack under his lips for a moment before he returns the kiss with matching vigor, gloved hands cupping Yuuri’s face to hold him there. Yuuri lets him, licking into Viktor’s mouth and fighting back a moan when the familiar taste of him sweeps through his veins. Viktor is the one to break the kiss, face pink and eyes bright. He stands there, close enough to hold and so solidly real that Yuuri has to wonder how he went months with only a pale specter in his dreams to keep him company.

 _I missed you_ , he wants to say, but the words are trapped in his throat, stifled by the knowledge that there will never be anything kind and gentle between them.

Yuuri is just a fool, hungering for a man who would kill him as soon as kiss him.

Then Viktor’s mouth is back on his, fiercer than before, and Yuuri is only too happy to let thoughts fade into sensation.

Viktor’s fingers fumble at their clothes, flicking at buttons and tugging at sleeves with mounting frustration. Yuuri isn’t surprised when he pulls back with a curse and watches with no small amount of amusement as Viktor glares darkly at Yuuri’s jacket.

“Why are you in so many _layers_?”

Yuuri casts a meaningful look at Viktor’s garb, which eclipses Yuuri’s in extravagance, complete with golden chains and a fur collar. Viktor either doesn’t comprehend his hypocrisy or is ignoring it. He looks like he’s pouting, and Yuuri’s heart feels painfully full.

“So impatient,” Yuuri mocks, twisting his lips into a knife-smile. “One would think you’ve been celibate since our last tryst.”

The barb bites deep, but not at the target. It’s Yuuri who has to hold back a flinch as the pressure in his chest turns painful for a whole other reason. But that’s fine. Bitter anger is the better, wiser option; foolish infatuation has dug its roots deep into his veins and he has long since surrendered hopes of being cured, but he can keep it down, bury it under layers of resentment so that Viktor will never, ever know.

Viktor’s eyes flash, but he doesn’t react beyond an unimpressed huff. He turns away, yanking off his gloves and working on his clothes, and Yuuri follows suit, shamelessly taking advantage of Viktor’s distraction to stare unimpeded.

The jacket comes off first, the dark fur covering Viktor’s nape gone all of a sudden, exposing his neck to Yuuri’s searching eyes.

He remembers, vividly, the time when long silver tresses cascaded down that sleek back, beautiful enough to be distracting even in the heat of battle. He remembers the feel of it in his hands, smooth and impossibly soft as he wound it around his fist and pulled Viktor’s head back to mouth at his throat. He remembers the way it framed Viktor’s face when he loomed over Yuuri, a dream given flesh, appropriately fleeting.

Yuuri was the one to destroy it in the end, not on purpose, but Viktor twirled away from the slash of his sword and Yuuri followed, intent on drawing blood, only to slice off that thick, pretty braid instead. Viktor’s expression was one of heartbreak, and it took Yuuri every ounce of self-control he possessed not to match him in kind. He forced a sneer, poison spilling from his lips until Viktor lunged for him with a snarl.

That day, they both had to be carried out of the battlefield.

He’s moving before he can stop himself, palms sliding up Viktor’s bare back. He stills under the touch, shivering slightly when Yuuri’s lips press to the back of his neck.

“And you call me impatient,” Viktor rasps, raising a hand to cover one of Yuuri’s.

Yuuri lets himself linger for another second, savoring the softness of Viktor’s skin under his lips and the unwitting tenderness of this gesture, tucking it away in his mind to join a myriad of such stolen moments to torment himself with.

Then he turns Viktor around and kisses him until neither of them can breathe.

The short trip to the bed is hasty and ungraceful, the two of them tumbling into it in a heap of limbs. It probably says something about them that this one thing has always been the same no matter where they are, be it hidden alcoves in some noble’s mansion, shabby rented rooms in some village tavern, or the finest chambers in a palace. A more optimistic man may think that it speaks of their passion, burning and insatiable after all these years, but Yuuri knows better. They don’t know gentleness, not with each other; Yuuri because to show affection is to show weakness, and Viktor because, well, Yuuri is just a game to him, isn’t he? A conquest that refuses to be conquered.

That’s fine.

Viktor arches his back and bites his lips raw when Yuuri thrusts his fingers into him, slick with oil and relentless in his drive to rip Viktor’s pleasure out of him. He’ll never tire of this, of Viktor with his perfect composure shattered, writhing and panting under Yuuri’s hands.

“Come on,” Viktor gasps, rolling his hips into Yuuri’s fingers. “Fuck me already.”

Yuuri does, slicking his cock and pressing into Viktor, hands slippery on his hips and eyes fixed on the expressions twisting his face. Viktor’s _tight_ , his ass roughly gripping Yuuri’s length as he pushes in inch by inch, two fingers and a few minutes not enough to loosen him enough to take Yuuri inside with ease. But the sounds he makes, high, throaty cries that travel straight to Yuuri’s dick, are dark with pleasure.

Yuuri stops halfway in, as much for his own sake as Viktor’s. He never forgot this, couldn’t even if he tried, but memories and daydreams pale in comparison to the solid heat of Viktor spread out under him.

But Viktor has never been particularly patient. His legs wind around Yuuri, ankles crossing over his back, and he presses _hard_ , driving Yuuri forward even as Viktor arches his back and takes him deeper.

Yuuri swears, smothering the sound against Viktor’s neck, shutting his eyes hard enough to see spots in his vision as Viktor clenches around him, hot and wet and absolutely maddening. When he pulls back enough to see Viktor’s face, Yuuri isn’t surprised to find him smiling, smug and fever-sweet. Yuuri growls, sinks his teeth into plush red lips, and drinks in the groan that follows with vicious satisfaction.

There is so much he holds back with Viktor, so much he hides under cold eyes and twisted smiles, all to protect himself, even as he tears himself apart in this strange fire that burns between them.

But like this, buried deep in Viktor and tasting blood on his tongue, Yuuri can let himself go. If there is one thing he trusts about Viktor, it is that he will always match Yuuri, blow for blow, thrust for thrust.

He lifts Viktor’s hips higher, seeking an angle that makes them both cry out, and fucks into him with unrestrained passion, opening him up with his cock until the hushed words falling from Viktor’s lips turn slurred and incoherent, pleas and demands becoming keening whines that spur Yuuri on to take him faster and harder. Blunt nails rake down his back, and Yuuri moans, shuddering as pain and pleasure bolts down his spine. Viktor clings to him, all of his sharp edges made soft and malleable, just for these few precious seconds.

Yuuri comes with Viktor’s name on his lips, a broken mantra that shakes and trembles in time to the erratic jerks of his cock inside Viktor.

Viktor holds him through it, panting hot against Yuuri’s neck and tracing senseless patterns over the welts his nails carved into Yuuri’s back.

Yuuri pulls out with a breathless gasp and slides down Viktor’s body to lap at his cock, teasing for one, sweet moment before swallowing him to the root and making good use of his mouth until Viktor comes down his throat with a muffled scream.

“My gods,” Viktor murmurs sometime later, when they both can breathe and speak properly. “I’ve missed this.”

Yuuri hums, noncommittal. With his limbs still tingling and mind made damnably soft, it’s too easy to imagine that Viktor means those words the same way Yuuri longs for.

Missed this, missed you; the sound of your laugh, the fire in your eyes, the warmth of your touch, your smile on my lips, your hair against my skin, your hand in mine–

No. He knows what Viktor means, and it isn’t what Yuuri needs.

Viktor isn’t dangerous because he has nearly killed Yuuri at least three times. Yuuri’s body is tough, molded to fight and to kill, to suffer and to survive. His heart though…Viktor will break his heart.

Sometimes, Yuuri thinks it’s already happening because Viktor takes a piece with him each time he and Yuuri cross paths, and bit by bit, Yuuri’s heart will beat bloody and raw in Viktor’s hands, fated to be crushed by uncaring fingers.

Maybe, if he is lucky, Viktor will kill him before that.

Viktor rolls out of bed, and Yuuri’s eyes trace the scars on his back, idly wondering which ones are his own doing. Some are thick and ugly, ragged where they cross the pale perfection of Viktor’s skin. Others are pink and faint, nearly invisible. Each tells a story of pain and survival, and there are times when Yuuri aches to press his lips to each one and drink in their history.

Foolish, foolish dreams.

Viktor stands shakily, a wry grimace crossing his mouth.

“Well, I won’t be walking straight today,” he tells Yuuri, and it would be an accusation if not for the pleased glint in those blue eyes. “You must be pretty proud.”

Yuuri lets his smirk answer for him, not trusting his voice.

Except, when Viktor turns to go, Yuuri can’t help but call him back.

Viktor turns immediately, brows furrowed in question. Yuuri lets his arm roll out over the side Viktor vacated, palm up.

“You could stay. Return the favor.”

Viktor smiles, a tiny little thing, almost fond – but no, Yuuri’s just seeing what he yearns to.

“I could,” Viktor agrees, and Yuuri knows immediately that a rejection will follow. But hope is a foolish thing. “I can’t though. Some of us are meeting in the garden. Mila, Otabek, Chris, and maybe a few of their retinue.”

“Ah. Okay.”

It’s easy to sound disinterested, like Viktor leaving only means the loss of another round of mind-blowing sex. Yuuri has a lot of practice in this.

He settles on his back, throws the arm he offered Viktor over his eyes, and tries to sleep.

“You could come, you know,” Viktor says, startling Yuuri. “We’ll be talking about Chris and Phichit’s proposal.”

He swallows the instinctive rejection and considers the offer. He could go and join a group of nobles he fought at one point or the other, sit among them and exchange veiled barbs, discuss the future in words that meant everything and nothing. Viktor would be there, and Yuuri would watch him helplessly, and all the while, he would remember how it felt when they were alone here, skin to skin, stripped down to their barest parts in an intimacy that left no room for lies.

“No, thank you.”

Viktor makes a vague answering noise. Yuuri listens to him dress and leave, not letting himself look until minutes after the door clicks shut.

Then he curls into the space where Viktor lay, breathes in the spice of his scent, and lets sleep take him.

 


	2. to the brave and the petrified (we all fall down)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter kisses chronology goodbye. It’s not too confusing, but to clarify – only the very last scene is set in the present, after where last chapter left off. Everything else is past events told in reverse chronological order.

It begins like this–

 

 

Spring, four years ago, royal ball in Venezia, nobles gathered from all around the continent for Prince Michele’s wedding; a pocket of peace in turbulent times. Yuuri, flushed with drink and desire, fever-bright eyes pinning Viktor to the ground in the center of a maze, one hand stroking his neck, the other fingering the ends of silver hair made short by Yuuri’s own hand mere months ago.

Viktor bares his teeth in a smile, hiding the quickening of his pulse as the calloused pads of Yuuri’s thumb swipes over his jaw.

“Like the new look?”

Yuuri’s mouth thins, his answer the tightening of his hand in Viktor’s hair, pulling his back to bare his throat for nipping teeth. Viktor doesn’t miss the way the gesture mirrors what Yuuri used to do when he had long hair, winding the length around his fist, running fingers through the tresses, actions that would pass as tender care if Viktor didn’t know better.

It’s easier not to think about it, to just dig his fingers none too gently into Yuuri’s arms in a promise of violence, one that is returned by the sharp teeth closing around a sliver of flesh.

And then Yuuri stops, abrupt and startled, pushing off Viktor to look behind him with wild eyes. Viktor leans to the side for a glimpse of what distracted Yuuri and finds a puppy, small and brown, merrily licking at Yuuri’s exposed ankle in between tugging at sole of his shoes. He sucks in a sharp breath, amused in spite of himself, because he knows he’s flirting with danger every time he lets his obsession with Katsuki Yuuri overrule common sense and logic, that exposure can spell both their ends, but for all the times he imagined being found out, a playful puppy drawn to the silly humans wriggling about in the grass never made the list. A grave oversight, he decides, as he watches Yuuri roll off Viktor and scoop up the little menace, bringing it up to his face.

Viktor adores dogs and abhors Yuuri – he does, he _does_ , and if he repeats it long enough, he’ll even start to believe it – so he doesn’t know what to make of the incongruous combination he’s faced with.

The puppy has no such compunctions and takes to its new human with great enthusiasm, its tiny body wriggling in Yuuri’s hands as it licks at his face, making happy little yips when Yuuri leans in towards it. It breaks out of Yuuri’s hold soon enough, only to clamber up over him to get back to his face. Yuuri lets it, falling back to the grass with laughter that splits open the heavens.

Or that’s what it feels like for Viktor who sits there stunned, eyes on Yuuri and the laugh still spilling from his lips, loud and merry and without a care, transformed from the somber, angry man of Viktor’s dreams and nightmares into someone warmer, more human, someone who–

 _No_ , Viktor thinks desperately, watching the spectacle before him with growing horror. _No, I can’t love him, I can’t_.

(“I’m keeping him,” Yuuri will him later, defiant, the puppy nestled into a coat that must have cost a fortune. Viktor will smile blandly and drown in the realization that it’s far too late.)

 

* * *

 

Or maybe it starts earlier, in a looming fort in that overlooks a mountain village that was once a key trading town but is now forgotten, a spectral speck on the maps. The reality is brighter; the place is small and quiet, but the people don’t look harried and gaunt like the ones in the other border towns, seemingly content in their inconspicuous existence.

The two women that lord over the fort are anything but inconspicuous, but they fit in oddly well with the rest of the village. Viktor doesn’t think he’s ever seen Lilia Baranovskaya look so at peace. She still doesn’t smile except with the corners of her eyes, but there’s a softness to her that becomes radiant when her other half is around. Okukawa Minako is more of a mystery to him, known only through reputation, which is as bloody and fearsome as that of Lilia, but the woman he meets is different from the ruthless warrior in the stories. She laughs and jokes and has a love of drink that is matched only by her capacity to hold it, and she treats Viktor with an easy affability that leaves him baffled.

They’re legends, these two, once infamous for their feats on behalf of their kingdoms; Minako Hasetsu’s greatest warrior, rumored to have the strength of a hundred men, and Lilia the best assassin to ever serve Queen Viktoria Nikiforova of Petrograd. Now, they’re notorious for a whole other reason – not treason, not quite, but something like it. Abandoning their kingdoms for love is romantic in stories but the reality is less forgiving. But they still live and thrive, and Viktor doesn’t feel inclined to judge them for it, not when he sees the home they’ve built together.

He thinks he’ll enjoy his time with them, but these days, the universe likes to laugh at him.

Yuuri arrives twelve days into his stay, invited by Minako like Lilia invited Viktor. He knows the timing’s no coincidence, and he knows Yuuri knows, but commiserating with his sworn enemy is not on Viktor’s agenda.

They try to leave, both of them, but Minako’s hand tight around his forearm stays Yuuri, and Viktor is quelled with one piercing look from Lilia’s gem-green eyes.

They’ve devised something, he’s sure of it, but they leave Viktor and Yuuri be for the most part, not forcing them to be in each other’s presence. Not seeing Yuuri does little to ease the sting of knowing he’s here, and on the third night they spend under the same roof, Viktor wakes to a moonlit room, drenched in sweat, with flashes of blood and cold brown eyes assailing his mind.

He doesn’t know where he’s going when he throws on a flimsy robe and stalks through the corridors, but in the end, he’s not surprised when he finds himself in front of a door he’s been dreading for days.

Yuuri opens the door at the second knock, looking for all the world like he’s been expecting Viktor.

Viktor wants to punch his pretty face in.

Instead, his hand finds a muscled shoulder and his mouth tears into plush pink lips, ravaging Yuuri with a vicious kiss. Yuuri fists a hand in Viktor’s hair, pulls him into the room, and returns the kiss bite for bite.

Later, when Viktor leaves the room with fresh aches and bruises littering his body, it’s with numb horror curling around his heart.

(But it happens again and again and again, and it doesn’t stop even after war calls them back to their kingdoms.)

 

* * *

 

First meetings are beginnings in their own right, and Viktor meets the Prince of Hasetsu for the first time on a battlefield.

He doesn’t know what the battle is for. The reasons – and excuses – blend and blur in his mind, and he’s sure he will be able to remember if he’s given the luxury of sitting down and thinking, away from the screaming violence of a raging war, but what would be the point then? That’s what peace is for, even if it always feels like a few stolen months amidst never-ending death and bloodshed.

Viktor is tired, small cuts and throbbing bruises littering his body, but he’s whole and breathing and that’s enough to keep him fighting.

Opposite him, Katsuki Yuuri looks much the same. Viktor takes a moment to evaluate him.

Katsuki’s younger and less experienced than Viktor, but has already amassed a reputation that nearly equals that of his warrior-queen sister. Viktor likes the look in his eyes and the set of his jaw, and he looks forward to being the one to douse the burning flame that is Katsuki Yuuri before he can become a soaring inferno.

He’s never taken pleasure in killing but with this time, it’s different.

Vengeance is for fools, but Viktor remember his sisters clearly, bright stars snuffed out too early, their blood staining the hands of the man that now stands before Viktor.

They clash, and it’s everything Viktor ever dreamed of and more.

Katsuki matches him blow for blow, his body twisting and lunging in a deadly dance, sword coming down on Viktor with a precision and strength that leaves him breathless. Viktor gives as good as he gets, something like exhilaration flaring in his veins as Katsuki pushes him to his limit and then _shatters_ them. The exhaustion leaves his mind and body, replaced by a frenzy that has him laughing and snarling as the two of them fight, both furious and determined to be the only one to walk away alive.

But all battles end eventually, even while war plunders on, and this one has its grand finale when Viktor’s blade bites through Katsuki’s armor and buries itself in his chest.

They’re close, too close. Viktor can see Katsuki’s pupils take over his eyes, can hear the scream he stifles, can smell the blood and sweat drenching him, can feel–   

–can feel the dagger that’s driven into his gut, Katsuki’s blood-soaked arm wrapped around the hilt.

Katsuki falls first, sword and dagger falling from his hands as he stumbles away from Viktor who can only watch, hands folded over his stomach to staunch the bleeding, incapable of taking his eyes off the man dying on the ground.

He thinks he might join him soon.

Arms come around him just as Katsuki’s soldiers surround him, and Viktor lets the darkness take him.

(He wakes and doesn’t know if he’s relieved for it, but news reaches them two weeks later that the Prince of Hasetsu has pulled through, and Viktor decides that he will not die until Katsuki Yuuri falls by his blade.)

 

* * *

 

It could have begun in that time when there was still some sense to the world; Viktor young and innocent, untainted by war, his family whole around him.

“Hasetsu has a prince now,” Alexandra announces at breakfast, carefully not looking at their mother. Viktor does and finds her wearing a frown, as good as a hissed curse when coming from their normally impassive queen. His father is a little more genial, listening to the twins chatter about the newborn Katsuki with an indulgent smile.

Viktor isn’t much interested. Babies are strange, tiny and fragile and too loud.

Anastasia is the one to draw him into conversation, leaning over the table to tug at a strand of his hair.

“I hope little Yuuri grows up to be a great warrior. Our Vityenka needs someone to test his mettle on.”

“He’s four,” Alexandra says, rolling her eyes. “And the Katsuki prince is an infant. Let them be children first.”

“We’re children too, but you haven’t been talking about anything but battles since we were five.”

“That’s different,” Alexandra protests, and only barely avoids her twin’s lunge.

Viktor giggles as his sisters roll around the floor under their parents’ exasperated eyes, the prince of Hasetsu forgotten.

He doesn’t have that luxury fifteen years later when his sisters head out to fight the Katsuki siblings, one their newly crowned queen and the other the teenaged commander of their army. His sisters are sure to win, but Viktor wants to be with them, wants to fight beside them, except the western border is under attack and his place is there.

Three weeks later, Alexandra and Anastasia return as bloody corpses.

His mother is enraged, Viktor shattered. They are each other’s only remaining family, but Viktor can’t seek solace in her any more than she can in him. He’s forgotten how to be a son as surely as she has forgotten how to be a mother, both of them too busy being soldiers.

So he does the only thing he can and swears to her that he’ll end his sisters’ murderers himself.

He’s read the reports, heard the tales, and knows that it was Queen Mari who killed his sisters, but that Katsuki Yuuri was the one to drive them to her, and the one who waylaid the reinforcements until it was far too late.

Viktoria looks at him like she’s seeing his death instead, but her answering nod is firm and steely.

 

* * *

 

But maybe there’s no beginning at all. Maybe this was inevitable because he can’t imagine not falling in love with Yuuri. Viktor can’t even remember when hatred dulled into admiration, when blinding lust became affection, when love crept into his heart.

He’s resigned to it now, but it still stings when Yuuri looks at him with cold eyes, treats Viktor like a dirty secret, and forces him to act the same. Logic says it’s for the best, there’s less chance of being hurt this way, but Viktor’s knows it doesn’t matter, not really.

The one solace he has is that he knows Yuuri will never hold back when they battle. If Viktor can’t have Yuuri as his love, then he can at least die by his hands.

 

* * *

 

The parade is ridiculous, and Viktor doesn’t hold back from telling Chris as much. The response he gets is some nonsense about public opinion and building relationships. And for all that Chris looks unruffled, Viktor knows the complaints annoy him because when the time comes around, he’s paired with Yuuri.

Well, there’s also Guang Hong Ji, but he’s the youngest of the gathered royals and gazes at Viktor and Yuuri both with barely concealed awe. Yuuri ignores him, but then again, he seems to be ignoring everything these days. Viktor spares a genial smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and isn’t surprised when the young prince backs off a step.

Viktor, for his part, edges closer to Yuuri, standing as near to him as he can without raising suspicion.

Yuuri doesn’t seem to notice, tugging irritably at his sleeves and collar.

“I feel naked,” Viktor hears him murmur.

He can sympathize. They’re in suitably princely clothing which means more silks and frills and layers than any sane warrior would ever wear. They’re not allowed to carry weapons save for a decorative saber that hangs sheathed at their hips. It’s a flimsy thing, thin and weightless in Viktor’s grip, nothing like the longsword he usually carries.

He imagines Yuuri feels the same. Viktor’s intimately familiar with the curved, vicious blades he prefers.

The first half of the tour – and it is technically that, though Viktor insists on calling it a parade – proceeds uneventfully, which is a good thing as anything that counts as eventful in this scenario would be an assassin or one of the watching crowd throwing rotten eggs at their faces. Viktor wouldn’t blame them. None of the nine kingdoms’ citizens are overly fond of visiting royals and for good reason. But while there are glares and displeased murmuring amongst the people, curious and assessing glances dominate, with the youngest children exhibiting something like actual excitement.

In the end, the attack comes from within.

They’re on the ground, gathered in a lovely green park surrounding a beautiful blue lake at the center of the capital. Viktor’s glad to stretch his feet and gladder still to be out of that carriage where he sat beside Yuuri and had to fight to stop himself from reaching out for casual touches he knew he wasn’t allowed.

He watches instead, little glances from the corners of his eyes, as circumspect as he can be when Yuuri’s resplendent in blue and silver, the gilded clothes that irk them both turning Yuuri into a fairytale prince, fey and ethereal.

Later, he blames himself for not seeing it coming.

It’s one of their guards, and he’s good, swift and sure as he detaches from the rest of the retinue and launches himself at Yuuri. The last thing Viktor sees is Yuuri’s wide, startled eyes before the assassin’s dark head hides him from view.

Yuuri’s falling by the time Viktor pries the man away, stomach gushing blood, painting the grass scarlet.

Viktor thrusts his saber through the assassin with barely a glance, only lingering to make sure he’s dead. He leaves the body to the rest of the guards and kneels beside Yuuri, hands hovering over his wounds, mind empty of anything but horror.

Yuuri’s conscious, his eyes dark and slitted as they find Viktor’s face.

“Yuuri,” he chokes out.

Yuuri doesn’t answer but the ghost of a smile flickers over his mouth.

His eyes close.

Someone makes a sound, high and desperate, and Viktor doesn’t realize it’s him until he feels his mouth part around a stifled sob.

He’s unceremoniously shoved out of the way, a couple of their guards kneeling beside Yuuri.

“What are you doing?” he asks, sharp and angry despite the tears that burn his eyes.

“They’re helping,” Guang Hong answers, appearing at Viktor’s elbow. “They have medical training and say they can stabilize him before the doctors get here.”

“I–”

Viktor swallows whatever he was going to say, suddenly aware of all the eyes on him. The guards and Guang Hong are all staring at him, their expressions ranging from suspicion to incredulity.

He can imagine the sight he makes, wild eyed and tear-stained over his enemy.

Something cold shudders through his bones, but then he looks at Yuuri and the cold becomes ice, rigid spikes digging into his skin from the inside. Fresh terror lances through his heart.

Viktor spins on his heels and stalks over to the lake where only the water can see him cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be literally incapable of not writing Minako/Lilia into a story.
> 
> Come scream at me!


	3. stay with me (shut out the world, live underneath the city)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm alive
> 
> Those of you who keeps up with my (sad, queue dependent) tumblr knows that I fucked off to grad school and got swallowed by it. So yeah, haven't had time to write anything that's not term papers or even to edit what I have written. But hey, winter break is here! I'll try my best to finish this and ML before January.

Yuuri’s surprised when he actually wakes up.

When he closed his eyes, he thought it would be the last time. It wasn’t the way he wanted to go; there was something deeply ironical about spending half his life on the front lines, crossing blades with some of the strongest warriors in the nine kingdoms, only to die at the hands of some opportunist assassin. But it wasn’t all bad either because the last thing he remembered was Viktor, bent over him with something like heartbreak etched on his face.

Yuuri was sure that he was only seeing what he wanted to see, perception skewed by blood loss and impending death, but it was still a nice thought to take with him to the darkness. He’d known for such a long time that Viktor would be there at the end, cutting him down and watching him die with cold satisfaction. It was oddly freeing to think that he’d grieve instead, mourn Yuuri and remember him, remember the sad, twisted thing they shared.

Selfish, yes, but Yuuri has always been selfish, especially when it comes to Viktor.

And yet, he’s awake now and the throbbing pain in his belly and the familiar patterns on the ceiling tell him that he’s still very much in the mortal realm.

The first thing he sees when he turns his head both reinforces and challenges that notion.

Viktor is there, slumped on a chair by Yuuri’s bed, seemingly sound asleep. That alone would make the sight a novelty, but it’s Viktor’s appearance that makes Yuuri blink and do a double take. The only times he has seen Viktor as anything but inhumanly immaculate is in bed and in battle. This is neither but the man is a mess, clad in his underclothes, eyes shadowed and sunken, hair limp with grime, none of his usual glamour evident.

He looks painfully human and for a moment, all Yuuri can do is stare.

When he finally manages to speak, his voice is hoarse and whispery.

“Viktor…”

Viktor hears him anyway, eyes snapping open, staring wildly for a beat before sharp focus creeps into them, aimed at Yuuri. He watched as blue eyes widen, huge and haunted on Viktor’s haggard face.

“Yuuri! You’re awake.”

Whatever Yuuri can say to that is interrupted by a high-pitched shriek.

“Prince Yuuri! You’re finally awake!”

Yuuri can’t quite see who said that but it’s not long before the person makes themself known, barreling into his view on clumsy feet. A mop of sun-bleached hair is the first thing he sees and all that he needs to know who it is.

“Minami?”

“My prince! You–”

“What are you doing here?”

Minami falters, looking at Yuuri with surprise. He doesn’t miss the way Minami’s eyes dart to Viktor before they return to Yuuri.

“Waiting on you, my prince. Waiting for you to wake.”

Yuuri blinks, slow and sluggish.

“But…Viktor’s here. Surely, I don’t need two watchers.”

Minami looks mulish, like he wants to insist that Yuuri deserves ten times that and is only holding his tongue because it would be impertinent. He’s become better at that. Yuuri remembers a time when Minami blurted everything that passed through his head, no holds barred.

It’s Viktor who actually answers.

“They don’t trust me,” he tells Yuuri with a wry smile. “I am, after all, your sworn enemy.”

Oh. Yes.

It’s not that Yuuri forgot that. He couldn’t even if he tried. But being alone with Viktor was so familiar to him, all sense of danger sucked out of it the sometime between the fifth and tenth time they fell on each other like rabid dogs, that being alone with him was almost second nature.

“Ah,” Yuuri breathes, not quite sure what to say. Minami’s nearly trembling in place, his eyes suspiciously wet as he stares at Yuuri who meets his gaze awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say.

In the end, it’s the pinched smile on Viktor’s face that settles it.

“Thank you, Minami, for looking after me,” Yuuri says, even summoning a smile that sits grotesquely on his face. Minami flushes red, the corners of his eyes glistening. “You can leave now.”

Minami’s smile freezes on his face. Yuuri rushes to clarify before questions can be asked.

“I need to talk to Viktor... about what happened. Yes.”

“But, my prince–”

“I shall not harm him,” Viktor cuts in, harsh unlike his typical, perfectly gracious speech. “I am a warrior, not a murderer.”

Minami looks mutinous but Yuuri speaks before he can.

“Minami,” he says firmly. “Leave. Guard the door and do not inform anyone that I’m awake.”

“But King Phichit said to tell him as soon as you woke!”

“Is Phichit your master, or is it I?”

Minami looks so appalled that Yuuri almost feels pity for him, but it’s eclipsed by his concern about the whole situation and Viktor’s bewildering presence.

“You, Prince Yuuri!” Minami bows, deep and respectful. “I’m sorry, I’m just happy you’re awake. I shouldn’t question you. Please give me leave.”

“Thank you, Minami.”

Yuuri watches him go. Silence reigns in the room for a long few moments after the door is softly shut. It takes effort to drag his eyes from the lion-headed doorknob to Viktor’s tired blue eyes.

They don’t speak for a while. Yuuri can’t look away from the lost, open look on Viktor’s face and the way he’s staring at Yuuri with an expression that defies name. It means something, he’s certain, as do the unraveled appearance Viktor is sporting, but he’s too tired to try and put it all together.

Or perhaps he’s simply scared to do it.

“Water,” Viktor says suddenly, bolting up from his chair and scurrying over to a table near the wall, piled with a large pitcher, glasses, and a mostly full plate of sliced fruits. Viktor pours a glass and returns to Yuuri, offering the water to him.

Yuuri reaches for it only to falter with a wince when his torso flares with pain. Viktor’s eyes, he can see, are wide and panicked.

There’s a muttered curse, low and vehement, and Viktor sits on the bed beside Yuuri, murmuring what sounds like apologies. He gently lays one hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, as if to soothe more than hold him still, and gently brings the glass to his lips. Yuuri can’t take his eyes off Viktor’s face and the strange intensity there, but he parts his mouth and lets the water trickle down his tongue, sighing at the cool pleasure of it. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was, but he empties the whole glass eagerly.

“More?” Viktor asks when he’s done.

Yuuri considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. Viktor makes as if to rise but Yuuri grabs his arm, keeping him on the bed. He waits until Viktor shifts to face Yuuri and meets his eyes.

Viktor’s different like this, in a way that runs deeper than just appearance. Yuuri clutches his hand a little harder.

“What happened to him?”

There’s no need to clarify who _he_ is.

“I killed him,” Viktor answers, his voice like ice.

“Huh.” Yuuri blinks, considering that. “I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure if those sabers could even skewer a rat. Yet, you managed to kill a man with it.”

Viktor doesn’t smile or even smirk. There’s a scowl instead, dark and deep but not quite _real_.

“They think I sent him. That I killed him so he wouldn’t talk.”

That is considerably alarming and ludicrous enough that Yuuri barks out a laugh.

“That’s stupid. You will kill me in battle, not through a third party.”

For some reason, Viktor doesn’t seem mollified. It’s with palpable anger that he rises from the bed, shaking off Yuuri’s hand and marching back to the table. Yuuri doesn’t miss the way he stumbles when he stands or the graceless sway of his strides.

Viktor is tired, no, exhausted.

“How long has it been?” Yuuri asks when Viktor is back. He doesn’t sit, neither in the chair nor in the bed, but looms over Yuuri, unsettlingly intense.

“Three days. This is the fourth. You never woke.”

“Ah. Okay.”

Viktor’s hands are fisted at his sides.

“They thought you would die.”

Yuuri only nods. He thought he would die too.

“It’s reasonable. The intent was certainly there. And I can certainly see why.” Viktor gapes at him, sheer incredulity in the lines of his face. Yuuri shifts under it, his bandaged wound twinging, and shrugs, looking off to the side. “Think about it. This is the first gathering of royals from all nine kingdoms in the last three centuries. For the first time in memory, there’s hope of peace. Phichit and Chris are _married_ , their countries united forever. There are alliances between the remaining seven that could solidify into something permanent. But that’s not great for everyone, is it? Some thrive on war, on the power and the glory and the misery.”

He pauses, sucks in a deep breath. His heart hammers in his chest, more from the spirit of his speech than any real fear.

“It makes sense,” he continues, softer this time, “that someone would think the best way to kill these peace talks is to kill an attending prince. I suppose I’m as good a target as any. My death won’t destabilize my country like yours or Princess Mila’s would, but it wouldn’t go unpunished either. Mari will be out for blood. And if the attack can be pinned on one of you, well, that’s just excellent. Honestly, at this point, I’m surprised–”

“Shut up.”

The command is low and cold, and Yuuri’s head snaps towards Viktor, surprise making his mouth go slack.

It doesn’t last, anger quickly taking over.

“I beg your pardon, Prince Viktor?” Yuuri asks dangerously, taking no small amount of pleasure in the way Viktor visibly falters.

“I didn’t–” Viktor starts before biting his lip. Yuuri can’t help but linger on the pink of his mouth. “I’m mad.”

“And how does that concern me?”

Viktor flinches, something like fear flitting across his face, and that’s when Yuuri truly realizes that something is very wrong.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to lash out, and I’m sorry, Yuuri, but _you can’t talk like that_.”

“What?” Surprisingly enough, Yuuri doesn’t get any less confused. “Viktor, what are you talking about?”

“You almost died,” Viktor bites out, gesturing wildly at Yuuri’s prone body. “No one thought you’d pull through that first day, no one but me, and now you wake and talk like it didn’t even matter, like it’s some big fucking joke.”

“It’s no joke,” Yuuri tells him quietly. “And I assure you I’m in no hurry to die. But this is my reality. Our reality. I don’t understand why you’re reacting this way.”

Viktor’s answering laugh is rough and bitter.

“You don’t understand,” he says, slapping one hand over his face. “Of course. It’s not like I – like you almost died.”

Viktor keeps saying that like it means something. And it’s not like Yuuri wants to die, but he doesn’t get why it’s such a big deal. This isn’t the first assassin to come after him. It’s not even the first to injure him, though none of the others came so close to killing him. That particular privilege was always Viktor’s.

“I have almost died more times than I can count. Most of those were courtesy of you.”

“This is different,” Viktor snaps, finally looking at Yuuri again, eyes narrowed into an angry plea. Yuuri can’t tell what they’re trying to say. He never could.

“Why? Because you’re not the one who hurt me?”

It is honestly the only reason Yuuri can think of but the startled widening of Viktor’s eyes is all he needs to see to know that it’s the wrong assumption.

“Because I was never trying to kill you!” Viktor yells, the words echoing in the room and in Yuuri’s ears, ringing like so much senseless noise.

“What?”

“I was never trying to kill you,” Viktor repeats, tired and resigned. He sits, nearly dropping himself on the bed. “Not for the last five years.”

Yuuri stares at the defeated line of Viktor’s shoulders and tries to understand what he’s hearing.

“What?”

“I don’t want you to die. I haven’t wanted that since before I even knew it. For so long, I’ve – I – You bled out in my arms. It was the most terrifying moment of my life.”

Through the haze of his horrified bewilderment, Yuuri catches the thought that what Viktor’s saying can’t possibly be true because he knows Viktor’s history, has lived some of it alongside him, and there is no possible way Yuuri dying could be the worst of it, not unless–

He knows that if their roles were reversed, he would shatter at Viktor’s death but that’s different, that’s so different because Yuuri loves Viktor, and Viktor–

“We’re enemies,” Yuuri tells him, a little lost, a lot desperate, as if begging for Viktor to echo those words. “Viktor, we’re enemies.”

Viktor turns so Yuuri can see his face and the smile on it is the most confounding thing he’s ever seen.

“I know,” Viktor says gently. “But it hasn’t mattered for a very long time, Yuuri.”

 _What are you saying_ , Yuuri wants to ask, but he can’t because no amount of denial can erase what Viktor is trying to tell him. But Yuuri can’t accept what his head is telling him either. His heart rebels like it always has.

He says nothing, and Viktor remains equally silent, the two of them quietly staring at each other. The expression Viktor wears is both alien and familiar; alien because it’s soft and tender like nothing Viktor has ever shown him and familiar because Yuuri has dreamed so sweetly of Viktor looking at him just like this, like he’s someone to be loved.

Yuuri closes his eyes, unable to meet that gentle gaze.

“The first time we met, you drove a sword through my chest, and I tore up your guts, and when they pulled us away, my last thoughts were that I would die but I would take you with me. I was _happy_. But we survived.”

He hears Viktor’s shuddering inhale, hears the sound he swallows, but doesn’t look. He’ll need all the courage he has to go through with this, but he’s always been weak when faced with Viktor.

“Viktor, if you did that now, I’d stand there and bleed because I couldn’t bear to kill you.”

“Yuuri…”

“You weren’t the only one,” Yuuri continues, a scream or a laugh fluttering in his throat. “I’ve been trying so hard not to kill you because I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I did.”

Viktor kisses him.

Yuuri opens his eyes at the touch of his lips and finds himself staring into blue eyes wet with tears, held stubbornly open as Viktor presses his mouth to Yuuri’s as if to stifle his words and drink in his breath. Yuuri lets him, too stunned to so much as move, caught in the ocean of Viktor’s eyes and _drowning_.

But gods, he’s been drowning for so long.

“Tell me you love me,” Viktor asks – _begs_ – when he pulls back, clasping Yuuri’s hand like a lifeline. “Yuuri, please.”

“I – Viktor, I–”

“I love you,” Viktor whispers, breath hitching, everything about him raw and open and vulnerable. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I’m terrified but please, if I have a chance, if you could possibly not hate me, tell me.”

“I love you,” Yuuri chokes out, trembling helplessly. “Of course I love you, of course I don’t hate you, how could I–”

The relief that shudders through Viktor, that faint broken sob and crystal sheen tears, freezes the words in Yuuri’s throat.

It’s not hard to imagine what Viktor’s feeling. Nothing is obvious in hindsight, not to Yuuri, except those rare moments where he thought he spied something other than cool disdain or violent hatred on Viktor’s face, but he wrote those off as wishful thinking and still doesn’t see how his past self could have viewed them as anything but. Viktor is a very good actor.

But so is Yuuri, isn’t he? After all, he had Viktor convinced that Yuuri hated him. It’s not a struggle to imagine what Viktor is feeling now because Yuuri is reeling too, but at the same time, it _is_ because he can’t wrap his head around the fact that Viktor loves him.

Viktor is Viktor, bright and brilliant like a blazing star. Yuuri never stood a chance.

It’s different with Yuuri; he’s just a second son, military commander by necessity and Viktor’s worst enemy by choice. Viktor’s feelings don’t make sense.

But seeing Viktor like this, bent and cracked but not broken, never that, all for Yuuri, it feels like cruelty to doubt. Yuuri has never been not cruel to Viktor, but he can’t seem to summon it now. It’s hard to when he remembers how he woke to Viktor sitting by the bed, weary and worn and so obviously there for Yuuri.

“Did you stay here with me all this time?”

Viktor raises his head from where it’s bowed over Yuuri’s hand. There are tear tracks on his face but his smile is wide and blinding.

“Yes. Well, no, it took time to convince Chris that I didn’t sic that assassin on you, and longer still to convince Phichit, and I don’t think they believe me but there’s no proof and it’s not like they can detain a visiting prince without repercussions, not that I think Phichit won’t – ah, sorry, I’m rambling. I’m just–” Viktor gives a strange little laugh, looking at Yuuri with wondering eyes. “Happy. I’m happy.”

Yuuri can only stare, stunned, as the man he thought he knew transforms into someone who’s almost a stranger and all the more precious for it. Viktor has always been beautiful in the way of cold things, sculpted marble and frost on the ground, but this is different, a radiance that warms Yuuri down to his core.

“Me too,” he says, shocked by how much he means it.

Viktor beams, mouth curving into a delicate heart. Yuuri raises a shaking arm to trace the impossible shape of it, his breath catching at the faint red that creeps over Viktor’s cheeks at the touch.

“Minami was the compromise,” Viktor tells him, a little dazed. “I didn’t mind. Not if I could be with you.”

He did that without knowing how Yuuri felt, thinking Yuuri still saw him as his mortal enemy.

“People will talk,” Yuuri replies. “This isn’t the way enemies behave.”

“I think I gave myself away when I started crying over you at the lake,” Viktor says with a wry smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I didn’t think then about consequences or repercussions. I saw you fall and I couldn’t _think_.”

“You’ve seen me fall before,” Yuuri says for lack of anything else. “So many times, Viktor. Often at your hands.”

“That’s different,” Viktor insists, everything from his voice to his eyes begging Yuuri to understand. Yuuri thinks he does, in a way he can’t put into words. He doesn’t forget that he used to want to die by Viktor’s hands.

He can’t forget that his love being reciprocated doesn’t change anything about their situation.

“It is. But we’re still at war.”

“No, we’re at peace talks, talks for _peace_.”

That’s unlike anything he expects Viktor to say that Yuuri is surprised into laugher, only to regret it when his entire torso starts to throb with pain. He winces, and Viktor’s there all of a sudden, his hands hovering over Yuuri’s body without quite touching.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri wheezes. “I’m fine, just a little ache.”

“Be careful,” Viktor reprimands, stroking gently over Yuuri’s chest and shoulder. “It’s a bad wound.”

“I’ve had worse, Viktor.”

“Courtesy of me, I suppose.”

“Well, yes, mostly.”

Viktor only sighs.

“I’ve always returned the favor,” Yuuri points out. “So it doesn’t really matter.”

“I’m sorry,” Viktor suddenly says. “I should have thought things out better. The first day could have been excused. But not all of this. You’re right. People will talk. I never considered how it would affect you. I apologize, my prince.”

A spark jolts up his spine at the address, Viktor’s head bowed in subservience. It’s blasphemous. Yuuri reaches over, grabs him by the hair, and pulls him into a kiss. Viktor melts against him, his lips tasting of salt.

Viktor didn’t say he’s concerned about how these events will affect him. Yuuri knows him well enough to know that it means he doesn’t care – or at least thinks he doesn’t care.

“When I was three, my mother killed your father,” he tells Viktor, calmly meeting his narrowed gaze. “In revenge, your mother killed my parents. A long time after, my sister killed your sisters. And now they all wait with bated breath to see which of us will fell the other first.”

Viktor’s lips compress into a pale, thin line.

“I wanted it to be you,” Yuuri breathes like a confession. “If I couldn’t have you, I wanted to die by you.”

The sound Viktor makes is low and lost and heartbreaking.

“No. Never. Yuuri, I could never – _I_ wanted it. You were going to kill _me_.”

“You know I cannot,” Yuuri responds and knows that Viktor understands.

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

Viktor looks way, towards the door outside of which Minami stands guard. Yuuri’s not sure how much longer they will be alone. If Phichit comes to check on him, and he is sure to, then neither Minami nor all the gods will be able to stop him.

The same must occur to Viktor.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to leave?”

Viktor’s laugh is hollow and mirthless.

“No. Never.”

“Then don’t.”

Viktor stares at him. Yuuri holds his gaze, allowing himself to show half a decade’s worth of rigidly repressed feelings on his face.

“I’m tired,” he says, reaching up to cup Viktor’s face. “Stay. Watch over me while I sleep.”

He can feel the shiver that wracks Viktor’s frame, soft and electrifying as it travels from his skin to Yuuri’s fingertips. He digs them a little more firmly into Viktor’s chin, holding him fast in this glorious, fleeting present.

“Yes, my Yuuri.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fluff shall continue!  
> Come yell at me.


	4. light up the bars of the world (with the decadent essence of innocence)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sometimes, Yuuri touches him like he’s afraid Viktor will break under his fingertips. And sometimes, Viktor can’t hold him tight enough, terrified that Yuuri will fade away like the wisps of a dream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> Definitely more of a whimper than a bang, as these things go.

Viktor, with his silver hair and extravagant formal wear, does not cut the most subtle figure on the dance floor and thus stands no chance of escaping King Phichit’s prying eyes. He knows this and makes the executive decision to hide, which he does by ducking under a behind a large, potted plant tucked into one corner of the ballroom.

It’s not the most inelegant position he’s been in, but it comes uncomfortably close.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Chris that finds him.

“Viktor, I have seen many strange sights in this thrice-cursed world but this is right up there with the best of them. _What_ are you doing?”

Rather than straighten and salvage some of the dignity he’s sure must be buried somewhere inside him, Viktor yanks Chris down by his coattails. The plant isn’t big enough for the two of them but that’s fine, people will just think Chris is talking to a plant. It’s hardly the oddest thing they’ll have seen him do.

“I’m hiding,” Viktor tells him.

Chris takes a good, long look at Viktor, from his carefully brushed hair to his richly embroidered jacket, all evidence that he did indeed come here to dance and not to make conversation with a potted plant.

“May I ask why?”

“If I go out there, people will see me and ask me to dance, and I will not be able to deny because this is supposed to be a celebratory ball, and I’ll be expected to play the part of the gracious prince.”

“Oh? Is there really no one here that you want to dance with, darling?”

Chris sounds like he knows precisely what Viktor’s answer will be and to be fair, he hasn’t exactly been subtle on that front.

“Your husband is with Yuuri, and I’m sure his intentions towards me are less than kind. I’m waiting for him to leave Yuuri alone.”

“Waiting and hiding, you mean. Badly.”

“I’m perfectly hidden.”

“You look like a peacock trying to pass as a parrot, my friend.”

“Well, let me hear your ideas if you’re so fucking wise.”

“Language,” Chris chides, suppressing a laugh. “And watch, Viktor. Don’t forget though. You still owe me an explanation.”

With that, Chris rises and strides over to the wall Yuuri is leaning on, Phichit a faithful shadow by his side. They’re talking to each other but their eyes constantly run over the dance floor. Viktor wonders if Yuuri is looking for him, and his heart skips a beat, as weak as always when it comes to Yuuri. It’s surreal that he no longer has to reprimand himself for his feelings because _Yuuri returns them_.

Caught up in Yuuri, Viktor misses what Chris does until he sees him draw Phichit away by the arm, the latter’s smile tinged with exasperation. They head to the center of the room and the next moment, Phichit is weeping Chris around on the floor with as much enthusiasm as grace. It’s a lovely sight but Viktor’s eyes are invariably drawn to Yuuri, now alone and watching his friends with a fond smile.

Viktor shuffles out from behind the plant, gives it a grateful pat, and makes his way over to Yuuri, straightening his clothes absently.

Yuuri catches sight of him when he’s a few feet away and his eyes widen, surprise and something that Viktor hopes is pleasure flickering across them.

Yuuri looks beautiful, and to be fair, he always looks beautiful. Viktor’s seen him drenched in mud and blood more times than he can count and they did nothing to dull his beauty. He looks healthier too, not quite as wan as he has been these last two weeks. Yuuri persisted in attending the rest of the meetings even as his wound was healing, and Viktor was helpless to do anything but lend his support as Yuuri limped and labored back and forth between the halls and his room. It earned them some questioning stares, some kinder than the rest, but they ignored it.

People are too busy to pay attention to them now, all of them caught up in the spirit of this ball, one to celebrate the successful end of the first of a series of peace talks between representatives of all the nine kingdoms. Even Yuuri looks happy to be here, though maybe that’s because he’s finally healed enough to walk and stand unaided.

“Hey,” Viktor greets, a little breathless. “Prince Yuuri.”

“Prince Viktor,” Yuuri returns, tilting his head in acknowledgment, cool and formal as if they did not wake this morning tangled together in bed.

There’s an awkward moment. There are many of those recently. With their hostile veneers ripped from them, they are both floundering, wonderingly expressing the gentleness they buried but uncertain if they’re truly allowed to.

Sometimes, Yuuri touches him like he’s afraid Viktor will break under his fingertips. And sometimes, Viktor can’t hold him tight enough, terrified that Yuuri will fade away like the wisps of a dream.

It’s there now, in the way they look at each other, eyes flitting away, standing a few feet apart, aching to touch but not.

“Yuuri,” Viktor calls, forgetting everything he wanted to say.

Yuuri’s answering smile is wider, infinitely soft.

“Viktor.”

Viktor stumbles forward like a man possessed, pressing Yuuri back against the wall. He takes his face in his hands, mesmerized by the black of his gloves so stark against Yuuri’s skin. Yuuri’s hands wrap around his wrists, tentative for a moment before they grip hard enough to bruise.

“People will see,” he warns, but he doesn’t let go of Viktor.

“Let them,” Viktor whispers, hungrily tracing the curve of Yuuri’s cheeks. “Dance with me, my prince.”

Yuuri’s breath stutters at the address, and Viktor knows what he’s going to say even before his lips part.

“I’m not your prince.”

“You are. My prince and my love.”

Yuuri shudders this time, a delicate, full-bodied shiver that Viktor feels in his own bones.

“Please, dance with me.”

Yuuri nods, sliding his hands up Viktor’s arms, taking him by the shoulders to gently push him back. Viktor goes, delighted when Yuuri follows him.

On the floor, he can feel the eyes on them, hear the hushed whispers. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the couples that have stopped to stare. If he looks, he knows he’ll find shock and scandal in their expressions.

He and Yuuri are sworn enemies in their eyes.

The gathered royals probably aren’t too surprised. They saw Viktor’s reaction to the attack on Yuuri and know that the two of them were inseparable afterwards. Even the most oblivious can guess. There has never been any hope of keeping their relationship a secret but so public an affirmation will make the news travel faster.

Viktor knows what he will face when he returns home. The knowledge is reflected in Yuuri’s face but his hand is firm on Viktor’s waist, his fingers tender on his face. They sway on the spot, barely moving, letting the music wash over them.

“I’m afraid I can’t dance that well,” Yuuri tells him, pulling Viktor’s attention inexorably onto him. “The injury prevents it.”

“This is fine. This is perfect.”

Yuuri smiles. Viktor’s lost in his eyes and doesn’t see the kiss coming until Yuuri’s mouth is on his.

It’s instinct to kiss back, to clutch at Yuuri and pull him closer, to sigh at the fingers that card through his hair. Yuuri nips at his lip, sharp and playful, and Viktor laughs into the kiss, pulling back with a racing heart and tingling lips.

“There,” Yuuri says, thumbing Viktor’s mouth. “That’s better.”

“What?”

“You look happy.”

“I _am_ happy. You’re here.”

Pink spreads across Yuuri’s cheeks, making him glow.

Around them, the crowd shifts, still staring, still talking, but leaving them alone in their little bubble of space. Viktor catches Yuuri glancing at them, his eyes narrowing a fraction.

“You know how this will end, don’t you?” he asks softly.

And the thing is – Viktor doesn’t. Logic says that lovers from two kingdoms as mired in enmity as Hasetsu and Petrograd are destined for tragedy. He remembers his hope that he would die by Yuuri’s hand and the way Yuuri hoped for the exact opposite. It’s a future that he can picture all too easily but his heart revolts against it.

“It will end the way we want it to,” he says with a firmness he doesn’t feel. “Peace is a possibility. This last month, all of us have been working up to that.”

“It’s not that easy,” Yuuri says, terribly sad. “You know it’s not.”

“I don’t _care_.” Viktor lets his desperation slip out. His fingers dig into Yuuri’s shoulders. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Yuuri. I’m not letting go.”

“Neither am I.”

It’s a promise but they both know all too well that tomorrow, they will leave for their respective courts. And once there, they will have to answer questions for which they cannot give answers that will satisfy their queens. Their mother and sister might rejoice in their love, but neither Viktoria nor Mari are mere family – they’re monarchs with the weight of a country upon their shoulders and bloody memories of dead family to account for.

“We could run away,” Viktor suggests, only half-joking. “Join Lilia and Minako in their fort, wait out the war.”

“I don’t know what life without war is like,” Yuuri murmurs, glancing down almost shyly. “I would like to find out, with you by my side.”

Viktor’s heart seizes painfully.

“Do you–”

“I can’t do that to Mari,” Yuuri tells him, soft and regretful. “And you can’t do that to your mother. We’ve taken so much from them. We can’t take this too.”

Viktor shudders, his father and sisters a dull ache that will never go away. Yuuri has his own losses, parents and friends that Viktor’s people ripped away from him.

He lowers his head until their forehead are pressed together.

“I don’t know what to do, Yuuri.”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything but he pulls Viktor a little closer, seeking and offering comfort.

“We’ll talk to them,” Viktor says after a pause. “Convince them to build better relationships between out kingdoms.”

“Are we doing what Chris and Phichit did then?” Yuuri asks, and his voice is light, playful, but Viktor freezes.

Yuuri pulls back, expression questioning.

“Is that – that sounds like a marriage proposal.”

Shock pales Yuuri’s face, his eyes growing huge, like it didn’t even occur to him that Phichit and Chris had ended the fight and united their countries through _marriage_.

But of course Yuuri didn’t mean it like that. Viktor’s getting ahead of himself.

He tries to brush it off, feigning nonchalance, but the words don’t come and his mouth gapes uselessly. Yuuri continues to stare, but the shock has receded, something thoughtful taking its place.

“Would you like that?” he asks, and Viktor’s mind goes perfectly blank.

“What.”

“Do you want to marry me?”

Viktor licks his lips, his heart thundering in his ears.

“That’s not how you ask that question, Yuuri.”

For a moment, he doesn’t think Yuuri will do it.

“I don’t have a ring,” he tells Viktor.

And then he sinks to his knees.

The room stills.

Viktor doesn’t care about them, having eyes only for the trembling smile Yuuri’s giving him. There’s no hesitance in Yuuri’s actions as he slides off his signet ring and holds it up like an offering.

“Viktor, would you do me the honor of being my husband?”

Viktor is distantly aware of all the ways this is a bad idea. He’s loved Yuuri for years but their relationship is a new, fragile thing. Until yesterday, he didn’t know Yuuri’s favorite colors. Until ten days ago, he didn’t know how it felt when Yuuri kissed him with affection rather than savage lust.

There is no one who will accept this in either of their kingdoms.

He lays his hand in Yuuri’s.

“Yes.”

The crowd roars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now either, it’ll all go to hell and everyone dies, or shit will actually work out and these two lovesick idiots can navigate a relationship alongside the politics without too much collateral damage.
> 
> Come talk to me!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


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